


Without Smearing Her Lipstick

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Jack learns an important lesson, Lingerie, Stripping Phryne, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 05:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Two weeks into a romantic relationship and things are going very well - there's just one problem - Jack Robinson is too good at sex, and he is letting it go to his head. Luckily Phryne has the perfect plan to remind him exactly who wears the lacy knickers in this relationship...





	Without Smearing Her Lipstick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeVereWinterton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/gifts).



> Many thanks as always to firesign23 for her sterling work as a beta.
> 
> This is an early birthday present for DeVereWinterton. Happy dancing Phryne!

****Phryne Fisher sat alone in her parlour, staring thoughtfully into her whiskey and considering the absurdity of her conundrum. It was honestly not a problem she could say she had ever faced with a lover before.

Jack Robinson was too good at sex.

This was, in and of itself, an excellent quality; a skilled lover was pretty much by definition a good one. The trouble was that not only did he know _precisely_ what he did to her, he was letting it go to his head. It could not be tolerated. No. She was going to have to remind him exactly who wore the _Hermione Cadolle_ lingerie in this relationship.

Of course, there was always the option of reminding him of the world of other men out there; nothing like a little competition to teach a man humility. The trouble was that, although such tactics might have worked on a few of her previous lovers, she had a suspicion that with Jack they would spectacularly backfire. Either he would believe her and be actually hurt by the idea – the last thing she would want – or he would see through the ruse completely, rendering it utterly redundant. Besides, the very idea felt somehow cheap, in a way it never had with any of those other men. It was transgressing the rules of their game, as if she couldn’t win fair and square without cheating.

No, this called for a more creative strategy.

She swallowed her whisky and a dangerous smile crept across her oxblood lips as she began to formulate a plan.

***

It had been an exhilarating two weeks since Phryne had returned from London. Jack had met her at the airport, and the meeting had been even more passionate than their farewell. It had been all he could do to stop at kissing her and drive her home; once there they had not stopped at kissing.

After months of dreaming and fantasising about what it would be like to run his hands over her bare skin, to feel her shiver, to lose himself in the feel and the flavour of her, there she finally was, naked and greedy for him. It was intoxicating. The first time he had felt her come, shuddering and gasping against his thrusting fingers, he knew he was never going to get enough of that sound, of the flushed, dreamy look on her face. He had done that. He made a point of doing it again. And again. Using his hands and his tongue, feasting on her intimate flesh until she begged him to fuck her. Phryne Fisher actually _begged him_. It was enough to go to any man’s head.

He hadn’t been able to resist the urge to tease her. When they were alone in his office working on a case – art theft and a suspicious death at a local museum, Phryne of course was good friends with the owner – he had leant over on the pretext of examining evidence and run a slow finger up her calf to tease the back of her knee. She had grinned, delighted at his boldness. So, he did it again, reaching her stocking tops, each of them daring the other to back down. An entirely inappropriate fuck on his desk was only avoided by the timely arrival of Collins with an official report. The man had the grace to pretend not to notice what Jack had been doing.

It had not been the only time he had got a little carried away.

Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a tiny thrill of tender vengeance in his actions. Before they had become lovers, Phryne had so often delighted in her attempts to drive him to distraction. Even now he could not be sure if she knew how often the tantalising glimpses of her bare thighs, or the flourish as she pulled some vital clue from beneath her décolletage, had left him physically compromised and in need of a strategically placed file folder to cover his embarrassment. It was probably the sheer amount of practice he had at hiding his arousal in her presence that gave him the advantage in this new game. As they had agreed to draw the line at anything that could reasonably be expected to get him fired, she was forced into a level of subtly that he had over a year of experience at pointedly ignoring, despite the occasional need to relieve his own tension in the wake of her visits.

He was having far too much fun, building her up with almost innocent, then somewhat less than innocent, touches until he was certain she was as aroused and frustrated as he had been. Then forcing her to wait until they were able to retire to a more private location to fuck each other’s brains out. He was fairly sure she had no complaints - and if she had he would of course have stopped at once – it was her pleasure more than anything that drove him on.

Still, he had rarely kept pace with Miss Fisher on any subject for long, and he was beginning to feel that he might be pushing his luck.

***

The feeling that he was about to be taught a very stimulating lesson increased as he entered the parlour at Wardlow. He had brought a coroner’s report on their latest case, but Phryne merely smirked and recited a few of the more significant passages from memory. Apparently, Mac was less immune to Miss Fisher’s inveigling and bribery than she liked to pretend. Business having been dispensed with quickly and a plan of attack for interrogating their suspect reached, Phryne knocked back her whisky and asked him to join her upstairs. There was a glint in her eye and a smirk on her red lips that should probably have had him worried, but he joined her without hesitation. If she wanted to teach him a lesson, he was more than willing to be an attentive and dedicated student.

Phryne stepped close to him as soon as they entered her bedroom, smoothing down the lapels of his jacket but not touching his skin. She was still wearing that dangerous, predatory smile that sent excited shivers down his spine.

“I’ll just be a moment, Jack. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?”

She gestured to the bed with her head, kissing him swiftly before sashaying over to her dressing screen. Jack tilted his head slightly, trying to work out what she was up to. She normally enjoyed undressing him herself and he her. Clearly, she was plotting something.

He found he rather liked the idea, and dispensed swiftly with his outer layers of clothing, folding his suit and shirt and setting them aside along with braces and socks; his battered brown oxfords found a home underneath the chaise. He kept his undershorts on, but after considering the matter – and with the swishing sound of Phryne apparently donning something tantalising and possibly lacy behind her dressing screen to spur him on – he removed his singlet as well.

When Phryne emerged, she was covered in a silk and lace robe that he hadn’t seen before. It was a foamy sea of greens and blues, swirling together like dappled sun over rough waters. The gossamer fabric clung and floated around her in a way which tantalised as much as it revealed. It was a gorgeous thing and he was more than eager to remove it. Her lips, still immaculate in their customary red, twisted in satisfaction at the sight he made propped against the pillows of her bed; he could feel the sweep of her gaze burning across his bare skin. That look, full of unabashed desire, the one that dared him then double dared him to give in to her and take his fill…it thrilled and excited him still, but gone were the days when he would back down in the face of it. He met her eyes in kind, raising two fingers and crooking them once, beckoning her to him. He wanted to make her scream, to wipe the red from her lips with kisses and leave her pale perfect skin flushed with pleasure, her hair tousled and tangled by the actions of his fingers.

Apparently, and somewhat to his surprise, Phryne had other ideas.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Inspector. At least, not just yet.”

She sauntered over to the gramophone and set on a record; the heady strains of a saxophone filled the room as the slow jazz beat began and Phryne began to sway. The silk of her robe billowed and flexed as she danced, the lace pulled tight to reveal tiny glimpses of a shapely thigh, the curve of her hip, the long line of her throat where the fabric dipped towards her décolletage.

Jack licked his lips and settled back to watch, marvelling at the glorious woman he had somehow found himself sharing a bed with. He dropped his hands to the silky sheets, imagining he could feel the soft folds of her robe beneath them, that he could pull them aside to bare her skin to him, trace the line of her throat with his tongue. He was growing hard at the thought, and Phryne had clearly noticed – her tongue too flicked out to moisten her still red lips, but she didn’t approach the bed. The look she gave his growing erection was satisfied and slightly territorial, as if it were her own favoured plaything.

He raised an eyebrow, once again the silent offer to join him, to let him take her over and over until they were both sated. He wouldn’t tease too much, he thought; his undershorts were already becoming a little uncomfortable. No, he would give her everything she needed, just as soon as she was ready to beg.

Phryne’s eyes crinkled in amusement at his cheek, and for a moment she was tempted. Damn he looked delicious like this, his hair ever so slightly mussed from where he had removed his shirt and singlet – It was not the full feast of curls it became after she had raked her fingers through it, just the one errant lock dangling across his forehead. But no, her plan was going far too well, and it would just be embarrassing to abandon it so soon.

She matched his raised eyebrow with one of her own, accompanied by a slight shake of her head as she continued to dance. She spun around, her movements in perfect time with the syncopated rhythm, nothing like the slow determination of a waltz but more than equally dangerous. She whipped the cord from her waist as a dramatic stab from a trumpet cut through the melody, letting the robe fall open and slip and slide with the beat down the length of her back, each movement baring a little more creamy skin to his gaze.

Realising that he was in for a show, Jack sat back beaming; it was, in a strange way, rather touching that she was going to such effort to titillate him. Truly, all she needed to do was exist – even when on another continent – to be enough to fully occupy his attention in that regard.

“If I’d realised I was in for a private performance I would have brought my opera glasses,” he smirked.

“You hate opera, Jack. Besides,” she turned her head to wink at him over her shoulder, “I think your current position will offer a spectacular view.”

He couldn’t argue with that. She let the robe cascade down to the floor, giving him full view of her satin clad derrière. He had thought at first that she might have been naked underneath, but now he could see that there was a thin line of ivory lace running along her spine, leaving most of her back bare but supporting the pale satin of her slip. His mouth was watering at the thought of running his tongue up the delicate ridges of her vertebra, threading that little scrap of lace through his fingers till he found the fastenings. Or perhaps he would let it snap.

The thought had occurred to Phryne when she had added that particular weapon to her arsenal of lingerie that there were a number of truly delightful ways he might consider getting her out of it. Perhaps another night. Tonight, she was in charge. She turned again with the music, allowing the sway of her arms to push her shoulders back, emphasising the hard jut of her nipples, the friction of them against the rich fabric of her slip making her shiver. She could see Jack’s hips twitching slightly as he sought relief against the more prosaic cotton of his undershorts. Well, she couldn’t have that.

“Your turn, Jack.” She flicked a finger down, indicating he should remove his underwear. An order which he complied with far too readily.

“You appear to have me at a disadvantage, Miss Fisher,” he growled, indicating the slinky wisp of ivory satin and lace she still wore in addition to her stockings.

“I’m so glad you noticed, Inspector.”

She looked like the cat that had got an entire cream tea, a warm spot by the fire, and next door’s canary into the bargain, and Jack realised, far too late, that he had broken Rule 1 in his personal ‘coping with Phryne Fisher’ rule book. It was one he had made quite early into their friendship and had been granted the primary position because men, including himself, all too often broke it.

_Do not underestimate her._

He understood the game now, he thought - she was going to make him beg. His shivered. Oh yes, he could definitely cope with that.

Phryne took in the sight of Jack’s newly bared flesh with a bitten lip and hungry eyes; she wasn’t going to touch him, not just yet, but she raised her eyes to make sure he could read every filthy thought in her head as they played out unobscured across her face. She was obscenely pleased to see his fist clench in the bedclothes, his erection jerking slightly as more and more of his blood rushed south.

Jack was locked in an ecstasy of pure frustration, a single bead of fluid leaked from the tip of his cock and slid down his shaft. Phryne was watching it, undulating low over the foot of the bed to give him a brief flash of her cleavage as she did so. Christ, he could practically feel the hot, wet slide of her tongue as she traced its path. Almost without his bidding his own hand moved to grip himself, desperate for any kind of contact.

“Oh dear, Inspector. Do I have to give you a lesson in restraint?”

She picked the dressing gown cord from the floor, letting it dangle from her fingers.

_Fuck._

He removed his hand, not quite ready to give in to that request just yet.

“Perhaps another time,” he croaked, his voice dry; there would be another time, he was sure of it.

Her eyes were dancing with glee at the thought, but she dropped the silky cord to the floor and turned to flip the record over with a flourish – there was no need to labour the point. The next tune had a vocalist; the woman’s deep, wordless harmony oozed like molasses between the thrum of the bass and chime of the symbols. Jack could fully appreciate why people called this devil’s music – thank Christ he had never been a god-fearing man. Besides, Phryne Fisher was more than enough devil for him to handle.

She had turned to the chaise and extended a long, shapely leg, toes pointed. Her feet were bare but for the pale silk of her stockings, almost a perfect match for her skin apart from the opalescent sheen as it caught the light. She ran her palms slowly up to her knee, luxuriating in the texture of the fabric and the feel of her own hands caressing her body. Jack could feel his hands itching with the desire to touch her, the tingle of silk against his skin an almost palpable reality, the sensation hotwired straight to his aching cock. She smoothed the creamy lace of her slip aside to bare her stocking tops, the red slash of her garters a perfect match for her still flawless lips.

Jack felt like every stealthy flash of her thighs he’d ever seen and the all the illicit fantasies which inevitably followed had hit him full force all at once. He watched closely for contraband, but this time there was none. A few deft flicks of her wrist and the garters were unfastened and left to dangle free. The stocking itself came off slowly to a crescendo from the record, the sound reaching its climax just as she flung the garment away.” Jack was breathing heavily now, his fists clenching tight in the sheets with the effort of not touching himself. The removal of the second stocking appeared to be taking up all her attention and it was about as much as he could stand.

“Please,” he whimpered, willing to take anything she would give him, even if it was only permission to touch himself.

The sound of Jack begging had always been one Phryne was especially partial to; ragged with need and with the thick red length of his hardened cock on display, it was beyond erotic. She could feel goosebumps break out over her skin, the smoky melody from the record humming along in harmony. She was all but desperate for release herself; then again, she had made the rules tonight. And she was not exactly playing fair.

“Would you like me to touch you, Jack?”

 _Damn her!_ She was leaving it up to him, and if he begged her to stop her teasing and fuck him senseless there was a good chance she would. And she would have won, and he would never know what she had planned for him next. It took a very considerable effort of will to shake his head.

“Keep going,” he whispered through a tightly clenched jaw.   

Phryne was impressed, and rather eager to get on with things herself, so she made less of a meal out of removing her slip than she might have done. She let him watch her fingers slide up under her hairline to find the hidden pearl buttons, then whipped the whole thing off with a flourish at the first available trumpet stab. She had not troubled with knickers and was left now in nothing but an ivory lace garter belt that she dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

She came to join him on the bed, but did not sit at the head where he was lying. Instead she propped herself up against the footboard, her knees open to display her bare, dripping cunt. Still moving to the music, she played her own body with the confidence of long familiarity, her hands threading through her hair, caressing her breasts, teasing her nipples.

It was an awe-inspiring sight and Jack was quite certain he had never seen its equal. That was until one elegant finger slipped between her legs and began to pump inside her, slow at first, then speeding up as the tempo of the music increased for the final measure. Her other hand came to join in, the index finger rubbing circles round her clitoris as she added a second, then a third finger to the one already pounding into her hot, wet sex. Her eyes closed as she focused on the pleasure wracking her body and Jack found himself utterly mesmerised by the sight, his breath heaving in his lungs as he watched her pleasure herself. When she came hard against her own hand she heard Jack’s tortured cry and opened her eyes again to meet his. Her poor Inspector was a bit of a mess, sweat beading on his brow, his high cheekbones flushed, his jaw rigid with the effort of holding himself back. She had made her point.

The last notes of the music died away, replaced by the hitching scratch of the needle as the record still spun, loud as a ticking clock in the silence. Phryne crawled up the bed with feline grace, her hands outstretched to finally touch him. There was a moment, hardly more than a fraction of a second, when she recognised the fear in his eyes; irrational perhaps, but there was some part of him that was still afraid of her. Afraid that if he let go and let her win this game, she would take her victory and move on - that it was his resistance that kept her interested.

It was a moment, hardly more than a fraction of a second, when Jack saw her playful mask slip, and in her eyes there was a such a depth of love, overwhelming and utterly without artifice. No insidious little insecurity could hold a chance against it. Her hand slid up his thigh, fingers trailing scorching fire over his skin, and he let go. He came shaking in her arms, his release hitting his belly as she watched in awe. He looked so beautiful.

She kissed him deep and slow as he opened his eyes, the once pristine red of her lipstick spreading unheeded across her porcelain skin.


End file.
